


Rock Hard, Rock Steady

by van_driver



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Chris in panties (briefly!), Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fingering, I'd like to thank god and also jesus for this real-life couple, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, RPF, Touching, just a lot of cute light kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 19:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7374202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/van_driver/pseuds/van_driver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey, we can always try it again. And maybe I can do stuff you like, too. Even the score a little." </p><p>What she likes is just more of the same—a sweetheart of a boyfriend and orgasms on the regular—and to get him looking all flushed and pretty and bashful. It would be criminal to seal that up in a vault. </p><p>Well, there's also the other stuff she wants. But it requires extending this already somewhat excruciating conversation. Still, she cocks her head. </p><p>"There's like, this one thing," she says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock Hard, Rock Steady

**Author's Note:**

> It somehow took me a week or so to realize that Jenny Slate and Chris Evans are ACTUALLY dating, which is awesome, because she's the best and he's pretty great too. 
> 
> I don't think this is, uh, real (despite my insistence that Chris Evans does have an actual praise kink), so take this with a grain of salt. 
> 
> Thanks to my darling Sam for giving this a once-over for me, and thanks to everyone who shamed me in chat and also in life.

She comes on a lazy Sunday morning, with his mouth on her pussy for like twenty, twenty-five minutes. His arms were anchored around her thighs so she could thrash around as much as she wanted and he wouldn't have to stop his completely devastating suck-lick-suck thing, a full five minutes of it on her clit.

He's very good at eating pussy. Really very very good.

Jenny sighs at the ceiling when he's done and mouthing softly over her hipbone, and she stretches until she makes an involuntary noise of satisfaction.

"That was a good effort," she tells him, rubbing his sweaty hair appreciatively. "You're so good." It takes her a while to come when it's just a mouth, but Chris gave it his full attention. She teases his temple with her nails, a flick of affection. "It takes dedication to eat pussy that long."

"Why thank you," Chris says in a jauntily pleased voice. He hauls himself up and next to her, so he can come on her tits and stomach. It isn't even his favorite thing, but he knows she's boneless, and he's probably too tired to try something fancy after using his mouth that long.

Her cunt—they'd both agreed on "pussy" and "cunt" after weird dirty-talking on the phone—is a pleasant aching throb with prickles of beard-burn irritation. She distractedly wipes his come away with a tissue while he settles on the pillow next to her.

"Hey," she says, after dropping the tissue in the basket next to the bed. She kisses his sweet and still very sweaty forehead as a _job well done_.

He smiles and nestles into the covers. He's just _so_ sweet. She can't get over it. He gives her such good dick and he answers the door when their Postmates order arrives and he takes Reggie out like all the time with Dodger and carries him when her ancient dog gets too tired to walk.

"Hey."

She closes her legs together tight and rolls over to intensify the ache between them and puts her hand on his chest to feel his even breaths. He's already falling asleep, which is fine, because she'll go eat something and watch TV.

"Thanks again for being a total babe," she says, and he laughs through a jaw-cracking yawn. "Just a really good boy."

He smiles at her and his lashes flutter as he goes to sleep, and she thinks he blushes, which is the cutest thing ever. God.

\---

It doesn't click until later that maybe it's a thing. He pretends he loves compliments all the time, and he does, but he'll get squirmy and make a joke out of it if it gets too intense for him. Jenny has a hard time taking any compliment with grace, so she relates. But one day she's on the phone talking to a friend, and he comes in and drops a bag from CVS in her lap. He brought her the stuff she asked for and some candy she didn't.

"Awww, thanks. No, it's just Chris being a good boy again," she says into the phone when asked what's up.

She's busy digging through the bag for the rest of the candy, so it's just chance she sees it: one shoulder jerks up in an unconscious gesture, and he's smiling kind of dopily, like he's embarrassed.

Oh boy. This is a thing, probably. Her entire torso gets warm and she decides she's going to—gently—test it out. Best-case scenario, he's really into it and goes to town on her again. Worst-case scenario, it's another thing they try and shrug off when it isn't great.

Jenny's a grown woman. She knows whether or not she wants his beard scratching the fuck out of her asshole. He can put his dick there, no problem, but until he shaves, rimming is out of the question.

Anyway, that night they have the TV on as they're on their phones. He's doing his fantasy football stuff, a line of concentration between his eyebrows. She gets his attention by patting his shoulder, which isn't the sexiest segue of all time. Oh well.

"If you're really good tonight," she says when he meets her gaze, steady and dead-on, obviously confused by her sudden intensity but ready to roll with it, "you get to come in my ass. Okay?"

He must get what she means—condoms are so important, and she feels uneasy without them in a casual relationship—but they're moving past casual. He looks pretty excited. Then he covers it by deliberately looking nonchalantly hot and mischievous.

Sometimes it takes her three simultaneous fantasies and being high and getting fucked through the mattress to come, no matter how horny she is, but Chris—most men—are like, _Do the one mildly kinky thing I like and I'll come in five seconds!_  It's pretty cool. It makes her part in things easier, at least.

So that night he eats her out again, but he also works her ass open on two of his big fingers, and Jenny gasps right when she's about to come and spits out what she thinks he wants to hear. It feels like throwing knives in the dark.

"Fuck, you're about to make me—you worked so hard to make me come, didn't you? Used your pretty little face so you'd get to stick your fat cock in my tight ass—" He sucks on her clit harder, encouragingly. "Oh fuck, fuck, that's it, so good for me, so handsome and good—"

She has no idea what she says once she's coming, her whole body feeling like it's collapsed to one point, then gradually expanding again with each successive clench of her orgasm. Really nice.

Jenny doesn't know what all worked or didn't work until he's in her fully balls-deep later, on top instead of doggy, like she'd expected. He stares down at her with his mouth open and his eyes slitted, keeping up a pounding that doesn't do a ton for her. But Jenny's already come hard and her cunt's shy of twice sometimes.

She wraps her legs around his tree trunk of a body and holds on tight to his shoulders. "That's it," she says, low. His mouth turns almost harsh. "You earned it. Such a good boy. You want to come?" she asks sweetly, tilting her voice up.

It only feels a tiny bit like coaxing a dog into a trick. She bats that thought away and focuses on his intent face, the way his eyes are hungrily tracing her face and tits as he fucks deeper and deeper. Looking away or disengaging even a little would not be honoring the moment.

"Baby boy, did you hear what I asked?"

He nods jerkily.

"You want to come?" She strokes the side of his face and then curls her fingers around the vulnerable pink shell of his ear.

"Yes," he says, guttural as a coffee grinder.

"You can fill me up with your come, sweetheart, but you're going to wait until I tell you you can."

His eyes close for a second and then he nods again and sort of hunkers himself down so he can get better control of his thrusts. She's not going to let this go on forever, because it feels brand new and sensitive, but also her ass is numb.

She makes a humming noise as he fucks her, his breath coming sharper and harder, the smallest noises pulled from his throat. Chris is fairly vocal: he talks a lot at first, and then when he gets too horny he calms down some, but he still makes all kinds of sounds. Now, he's uncharacteristically quiet. Like he needs permission to moan, too.

When he's trembling, she cups his face in her hands and makes him stare down at her.

"Give it to me," she says. Her voice wants to whisper, but she makes it convincing. "Fill me up."

He does, locking up and moaning like he's in pain. She lets him lean over her, all of him pushing her smaller body into the mattress until her chest feels compressed. Then she soothes him, gliding her nails up and down his spine and the wings of his shoulder blades until he shivers. He gets so sensitive if she touches him all loving.

"Good boy," she breathes, right into his ear, nuzzling into it.

He shivers again.

\---

"We are grown humans," Jenny says around her straw at lunch two days later. She thought she'd give him a little bit of time. But he never brought anything up, and she's impatient. So now he's eating a sandwich and she's eating a sandwich and they're talking about it. "So, do you want me to do that thing in bed a lot or what?"

He shuffles so he's low in his seat. They're not in public, she's not a monster, but he still acts like someone might be peering through the bushes at them. They're at his house in the hills on the back deck, behind a very tall famous-person perimeter fence. Her coming to his place is a true sacrifice on her part because driving that far up in the hills always makes her dizzy and sick.

"I mean," he says, tapping his fingers next to his plate. He doesn't look bothered. They had a lot—a lot a lot—of soul-rending conversations in her trailer on set and in restaurants and in front of her house leaning against his car as the sun went down. Negotiation and communication are vital for her. They're more vital than they've ever been.

Jenny's dated friends before, in her twenties, but no one this close. And she had intended to nurse a sore heart for a while, and was doing a I _'m a cool single girl living my best weird life_  for a while even after she'd made out with Chris on his couch and held his hand a bunch.

But it was easy to pretend they were just really close. Like totally platonically crazy about each other. Then he'd gotten his dick out and she'd stopped lying to herself. She isn't good at Friends With Benefits, and she isn't in her twenties anymore. They're grown humans.

"I guess," he says again, slowly. "People like weird shit."

She flashes him a look as she finishes chewing a bite. "I'm sorry, but that is not weird. I don't know what kind of porn you think I watch if you think that's going to be weird to me."

He laughs, but it's just reflex. "I don't want to call you Mistress or any wild shit like that. A guy likes to hear he's doing a good job. That's all."

"But I don't think that's all." He crams a bite into his mouth and there are alfalfa sprouts hanging out for a second. "Jeez, I don't want you to be embarrassed." She feels bad. "What if I tell you something I like?"

"You have told me _literally_ everything you like, honey," he says.

"No, I haven't," she says indignantly. "I like watching beautiful butch women and I'm super fascinated by prostate milking."

He blinks at her, then leans back in his chair and scratches at his beard. He does that a lot. He's right; she vomits almost everything at him, first as a friend who didn't give a shit, and then a little more timidly once she was dating him. But seriously, no one else is getting in her vagina. It's like a clock mechanism or a fancy top-of-the-line car: he has to learn how it works to use it effectively.

"I used to jerk off to my aunt's romance novels," he admits.

"But that's, like, romantic," she says.

He shakes his head, his grin playing peekaboo with her from behind his beard. "No, the covers of the romance novels. Not the novels themselves."

She laughs for a few seconds, then it hits her all over again as a mental image and she starts laughing again. He grins at her and goes back to his sandwich.

"No, but if there's something you like, I want to give it to you. You always look so happy when I say those things." She doesn't want to say "good boy" in the context of this conversation. It would feel antiseptic.

"Sure, I like it. I don't want it all the time, though."

"Well, I don't want penetration every single time we have sex, and that's fine too. We just do what we feel like in the moment. That's the point of sex."

He looks like he agrees, but he's back in his own head, chewing and thinking.

She goes back to her food too, but then a thought strikes her. "I'm really into the idea of giving that to you, but if you're not in the mood for it or whatever, it could be like anal?"

He tried, like a cool suave guy, to casually put his finger up her ass—which is fine, she likes it—but she knew that it was a slippery slope to trying to surprise her with full anal, which takes more than a five-second warning and lube. She shut that down in the moment and now makes sure he always asks or says what he wants before they get to the actual sex. Jenny gets the feeling anal was a birthday or holiday thing for him, or maybe the occasional hookup, but that he had to wheedle his way into it. Now that he knows she's down with some anal play it seems like he's trying to glut himself on it. Nope. She has to work and walk around the next day, and sometimes she just wants to look at pictures of sunsets on Instagram and not fuck at all.

"Sure," he says, in a tone like he's building up to a disagreement.

"Or I can ask for it?" she tries. "I can say something that lets you know I'm going to say it."

"I feel like this is a lot of effort expended for something that isn't a big deal," he says seriously.

Jenny all but quivers in her seat with frustration. Nothing is coming out right. She just wants to give him something she knows he likes, and they're both too awkward to hammer out the details. "So maybe it's an in-the-moment thing, but I just… I want you to feel good."

He makes an impatient but affectionate noise and grabs her hand, squeezing it. "We'll figure it out," he says.

"You just look so…" She trails off helplessly, rubbing her thumb over the side of his.

"Hey, we can always try it again. And maybe I can do stuff you like, too. Even the score a little."

What she likes is just more of the same—a sweetheart of a boyfriend and orgasms on the regular—and to get him looking all flushed and pretty and bashful. It would be criminal to seal that up in a vault.

Well, there's also the other stuff she wants. But it requires extending this already somewhat excruciating conversation. Still, she cocks her head.

"There's like, this one thing," she says.

\---

Chris looks at her dubiously from his place on the floor. He's on his butt in front of the couch, perched on a cushion, with Reggie eyeing him from near the entertainment center.

Jenny walks past him, carrying the remote, and plops down on the couch. She unmutes the TV and lets the sounds of whatever football game fill the room. She wants him to be comfortable, and happy, and relaxed, so she can just scroll through recipes on her phone and do this with her free hand.

She situates his back between her sweatpant-clad thighs, her toes curling into the carpet. He's a warm presence, and he puts his hand over the top of her foot because he knows sometimes her feet get cold.

Fucking aww, really. She scritches the back of his neck and pulls up a website.

It starts slow, her tracing gently around the base of his hairline, then just resting the flat of her palm on the knob at the top of his spine. She lets her own body heat seep into his, sending some good vibes along with it. He's relaxing incrementally, getting into the game and the mild touches she's doling out.

After about five minutes, she digs her fingers into the meat of his shoulder, and his head drops forward on a moan. He's always tense, and no amount of hammering with her tiny fingers makes much of a dent, but he's so into it. She massages him as hard as she can for a minute or two, until there are red marks on his bare shoulder.

Then she ghosts touches to his neck and his shoulder, tickling her nails up his spine, scratching at his scalp.

He shudders and his shoulders drop even further. He's not paying any attention to the game.

There's a warmth suffusing her, not taking root in any particular place, but a pleased, loving sensation that he's getting so much from something so simple. Jenny hopes every little brush of her skin against his imparts how she feels about him.

"Can you tilt your head up for me?" she asks on a murmur, and he does it instantly, smoothly. She strokes his cheek affectionately. "There's a good boy."

Jenny hears him swallow, and she starts in on his face. She's careful to avoid his eyes, but she traces his eyebrows, the ridge of his nose—feels the heat of his exhalations against her fingers—and tickles him until he hums and breaks out in goosebumps. When she passes over his lips, she feels them slack and parted.

"Honey," she says, and pulls his face up so she can plant a quiet kiss on his forehead. "I want you to be good for me. Can you go into the bedroom and get undressed and wait on the bed for me?"

He nods. He pulls himself to his feet with far more coordination that she usually manages, and now that he's not on the floor in front of her like a big sturdy rock, she's reminded of how small she feels around him. He could just say "nah" and wander off, and it's not like she could stop him.

Jenny watches him walk back to her room, sweatpants low on his hips, and hurries to get up off the couch and get everything ready. She feeds Reggie a treat to keep him occupied—he can gnaw for ages and tucker himself out—and then she washes her hand. The lube, a fresh tube she got like it's some sort of ceremonial item, is in her catch-all drawer. She grabs it and looks at the label like she doesn't know how lube works.

Then she sighs and heads back there, remembering to stop and yank her sweatpants and shirt off so she's just in some sexier panties, and opens the door.

Chris is propped up on her mountain of pillows, lounging without any awkwardness. He looks up at her and softens his expression, but his eyes are so serious as she walks up to him and cups his face. It's easier to say things to him when she's touching him. It's like being locked in to intimacy.

She kisses him, slow and dry, until he opens his mouth and she gives him a happy nip. He tastes like traces of toothpaste and warm mouth. His lips are soft, a little cracked. He needs more water. She'll bring him water later.

"Okay, baby," she says. "I want you to turn over for me."

He does after a beat and a nod, his neat little ass divoted in at the sides and firm everywhere else.

She thinks it's completely ridiculous that only one girl tried to play with his asshole and never really went anywhere with it. He likes touch so much. He likes anal so much. She thinks he'll like this just fine, or at least he won't hate it.

Jenny rubs a circle on the left cheek, watching him flex and get comfortable on his stomach. He'd only gotten half-hard, but that's fine.

She wants to joke that she's not shoving a dildo up there, but that would just make the mood all wrong. Instead, she soothes him all over again with her hands, going up to the base of his spine and pressing down. Eventually she sits on the bed next to him, at an angle, the only sounds the barely audible slide of skin.

Then she pops the cap on the lube, but she doesn't do anything else with it for the moment. She feels the skin in the crease above his thigh, the smallest bit damp, and parts him with a thumb. She can't see much, but she feels him freeze up.

"Relax." He breathes, a deliberate exhale, and warily settles down. "That's good. I'm just going to touch you and make you feel good. If I don't, I can stop. You just need to tell me."

She waits for a second to see if he'll say anything, but then she spreads him open. The little wrinkle of his hole is clenched up tight, faintly pink, squeaky clean, and she hums and wonders why she never thought about rimming. Probably he'd like that more.

"You're really pretty," she says sincerely.

Chris sort of laughs.

"I like how pretty you are." With her dry finger, she ever-so-gently traces the rim, watching him clench up even more. Then he relaxes. She thinks she might, _might_ , be able to slide her finger in up to the second knuckle right now, if she tried. "Feel okay?"

He makes an affirmative noise.

"It's not going to hurt you," she promises. Her nails are filed and clean, and she has slim fingers. She'll probably just rub at him and see if he'll even let her in. No big deal. But she knows how scary new things are, and how many guys are hung up on what being penetrated means. Chris had even told her he knew it felt good, but knowing and believing are two different things. "I'm just going to play with it a little."

Then she takes the lube and gets to work. She gets him glistening with it, then gently tests the resistance with her thumb. "Can you spread your legs?" she asks, when she realizes doing this and holding him open to see is difficult. He does. It pulls him open a bit, enough for her thumb to sink in a few millimeters. "Good, baby. Look at you, so pretty. Opening up for me."

She almost bites her tongue waiting to see if he turns around and gives her a frowning look, or laughs and calls it off, but he shifts and pulls up a knee like he's giving her access. Or leveraging his weight onto his cock.

She rubs all around it, varying pressure and speed, like she's massaging any other part of him, but she knows this one is so sensitive. He seems to be getting that message too: his breathing is starting to labor.

"Is your dick hard, sweetheart?"

Chris draws in a breath. "Yeah."

"Good. You get nice and hard for me while I play with your tight asshole."

On her next idle press, her thumb sinks in entirely, and her breath catches with her surprise. He's a hot vice around her, like he's trying to tug her deeper, and she stills her hand to get him used to it.

"Does it hurt?" she asks.

"No," he croaks. He rests his cheek against the pillow.

Gingerly, she starts fucking him, never really pulling her thumb out but just working him deep, and on the third or fourth time she does, his breath punches out of him.

"Oh, fuck," he mutters. His thighs tense on the bed, his ass going taut.

"Good boy," she says, her cunt unignorably wet for it now. "So tight. Want me to work you open?"

"Fuck," he says tightly. "God, do it."

She twists her hand and rearranges so she can work two fingers in, her pointer and middle, but this is less heat of the moment and it's not such an easy, sudden glide. She has to stretch him, inch her way in, and his asshole kind of spasms a few time. Jenny pets his back to get him through it, praises him some more.

Then she's got her fingers in him, and she hooks them, searching. This is not her area of expertise, so she never knows if she finds his prostate, but regardless he ends up clutching the pillows and throwing his head back with surprised, yelping moans.

She flips him over and jerks him off, sliding her other hand down to finger him again. Chris looks dazed and red. When he starts to come, he bites his lip and stares at her, and she feels each pulse snug around her fingers the same as she feels the ropes of his come splashing onto her skin.

After, though she's squirming with how turned on she is, Jenny kisses him and kisses him and runs a hand through his hair. Chris is breathing like a racehorse, kissing her until he gets somewhat under control. Her hand is sticky with lube and she feels lightheaded imagining him wet and opened up by her fingers.

He drags her down to drape her on him and works his hand right between her thighs, on top of her underwear. He doesn't even wriggle his fingers in to touch her bare, just cups the outside of her and rubs her cunt brutally, like they're fifteen or something. She sobs out on his chest when she comes.

Chris moves her hair and kisses the back of her neck.

"So that was good," he says, amused and sleepy, and she laughs so hard her eyes squeeze shut.

\---

_Four months later_

Jenny closes the door and drops all her shit in the hall, then feels guilty and starts picking up her purse, her jacket, her messenger bag, her iPad, and putting them in the appropriate places.

Her voice is hoarse and her throat is tight from too much ADR, and she's wound up from sitting in shitty traffic for thirty minutes on Franklin. Plus she's still dizzy like she's got a hangover from all the twists and turns in Chris's neighborhood. Today was not a good day. It will, she reassures herself, be better.

She spends time in the kitchen checking on Dodger and giving him good pettings, finds some sliced mango in the fridge and helps herself. Chris is somewhere in the house, maybe working out or hanging out in the backyard or even watching Netflix in the bedroom, and she takes the few minutes of privacy to not suck.

By the time she pulls off her bra and pants and wanders around finishing off the mango, she feels better. Dodger is at her heels, and she considers taking him out to the back and throwing a Frisbee.

She could also stand to pee and take a shower, so she opts for heading for the master instead.

It turns out Chris is in there, sitting up in bed, the duvet drawn halfway over his lap. His hands are clutching it, like he isn't sure whether to pull it in or push it away. He looks at her appealingly.

It's one of those days. Jenny brightens considerably.

"Hey, baby," she says, closing the door so Dodger doesn't get too nosy. "You want to do something fun?"

"Um." He gives the impression of contained fidgeting. "That depends."

She sends him a questioning look and wonders where she left a hair tie. Her hair is big today, in the way. Never fun if things get messy. "On?"

"On how stupid you think this looks," he says, with notes of wryness and bravery, and pushes aside the covers. On his very long body is not a lot, except for—she does a literal double take—a pair of black lace underwear. Panties.

She can see his dick through the panties, mostly hard. "Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit."

She watches a sly, pleased smile overtake Chris' face, lighting him up. He's carrying himself oddly, like he actually thinks he might look stupid instead of like an angel prince out of a kinky daydream, his muscles and his beard that much better a contrast against this feminine bit of lace straining over his dick.

"Ummm, you are getting fucked tonight," she says, and charges toward the bed.


End file.
